


kaleidoscope

by SoloChaos



Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Introspection, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 14:02:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2470835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoloChaos/pseuds/SoloChaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A group of butterflies is called a kaleidoscope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kaleidoscope

A group of butterflies is called a kaleidoscope.

 

You remember lying there, the stars in the sky blurred by the haze of smoke and sly smiles. You told him that you could see the world in his eyes and he told you that was the weed talking and you knew you never smoked but you didn't say so, you just pointed out that weed doesn't talk and he laughed and called you cute and the kaleidoscope in your heart fluttered like mad and you think that was the last time anyone ever called you something kind.

You're standing, now, in a motel room with your clothes strewn about and you don't care because he's standing there with want in his eyes and you just want someone to want _you._ And he does.

He pushes you, bends you, folds you but doesn't break you. He's groaning into your mouth, and you're gasping out his name, _Josh._ You're pushing, you're pulling, you're bruising and biting and he wants that, he wants you, and that damn kaleidoscope is fluttering like it wants out.

You mutter something about... _something_ and he doesn't say anything, didn't react and you know he heard you but you're not mad, he never reacts to anyone anymore and you think that might be one of the saddest things you've ever known.

You both lie there, just breathing, his hand over your heart and you know he can feel the kaleidoscope fluttering crazily in your chest. You're humming, you're always humming and he doesn't tell you to shut up so you know he likes it because he doesn't waste time tolerating what he doesn't like. You can't tell if you adore him or abhor him for that.

He runs frail fingers though bleached hair and his words come out laced in cigarette smoke and you're not listening, you never listen when he's like this, when he's got the world in his eyes but nothing behind them.

 


End file.
